The Last Of The Vigilantes
by Mindless Violence Fan
Summary: Hit-Girl supposenly died in battle with Kick-Ass almost five years earlier.  Mindy Macready-Lizewski decides that the world needs Hit-Girl when a 12 year old girl is kidnapped.  Mindy realizes that she needs Hit-Girl as much as the world does.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

A NEW BEGINNING

"This is Reporter Lisa Torres for EyeWitnessNews-13. Today, I'm speaking to the mother of a missing 12 year old girl. Ms. Reed, please tell us what is happening."

The camera pans to a visibly shaken woman who is obviously very anxious. "My daughter left for school yesterday morning and hasn't been seen since. The police are treating her like a runaway, but she has no reason to to do that."

The segment last another minute before the scene switched back to the news studio. Lisa Torres was seated in her chair facing her co-host and the weatherman as she speaks to the television audience, "...and this is the third disappearance of a young girl in the past month. EyeWitnessNews-13 contacted the local Police Department for a statement and were told, 'No Comment'. Please parents, take care of your children, it only takes a moment for them to disappear."

The television is switched off by a small hand holding the remote control. The owner of the hand is the last of the Vigilantes, twenty-six year old Mindy Macready-Lewziski. Mindy sat in the chair for several minutes, thinking about frightened children. She and Dave busted a child smuggling ring seven years earlier, rescuing several children and killing the slave traders. No other moment as a masked Vigilante meant more to her than telling the children that they were going back home.

Mindy Macready-Lewziski's past five years were a sorry waste of time. College, dead-end relationships, lost weekends, one night stands – nothing mattered. Mindy couldn't make a difference, but maybe Hit-Girl can.

"Fuckers. 'No comment', my ass." Mindy walked to a locked walk-in closet, entered a code on the keypad. The light on the keypad blinked and she pushed the door open. She entered the closet, closing the door behind her.

The closet is the size of a small bedroom. Firearms lined the walls, a bench with a small grinder sits in a corner. A built in cabinet fills the far wall with a shelf over the cabinet. She reaches up and pulls down a white box that's placed on the shelf. Placing it on the bench, she opened it, then pulled out a purple catsuit, along with a black and purple cape, a pink utility belt, a purple masquerade mask, a Scottish Tartan and purple wig. After staring at the costume for several moments, she slowly stripped to her underwear, then started the process of putting on the costume. When most of the costume was on, she looked at herself in the full length mirror mounted on the door. The outfit still fits, although she hasn't worn in in over four years. Picking up some makeup, she hides the remnant of a scar on her left cheek. Memories and emotions flood through her; common sense telling her to take the costume off and never look at it again. A deeper voice telling her that the world needs Hit-Girl again. Well, maybe just a frightened little girl needs Hit-Girl. To Mindy, that's enough to bring Hit-Girl out of retirement.

When she exits, she's wearing a dress that reaches mid-calf, a long sleeved, button-up shirt that reaches her neck. Her footwear doesn't match her outfit, looking like a pair of lace-up black combat boots. She goes to her computer, does a Google search, gets an address then walks to the attached garage. She enters her car, a 2020 purple Dodge Challenger, inputs the address into the onboard GPS system as she presses the garage door open button. A split-second after the door opens, the Challenger launches onto the darkening streets of New York City.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hit-Girl has been out of action for almost five years, but she hasn't gotten soft and fat. She may seem kinder and gentler in the first few chapters but you can be sure that the little bitch is back._

THE SEARCH BEGINS

Mrs. Robin Reed had several people wishing her the best, the last one left after 11 PM. Exhausted from worry and other stressors, she sat down for what seemed like the first time all day. Interviews from TV, blogs and other undetermined entities had consumed her entire day. Her daughter was missing; the Police didn't seem to care. She did what any parent would do: Anything she could that may bring her child back.

While she was resting her eyes, somebody knocked on the door, almost like a "Cop Knock". Almost running, she went to the door, unlocked it, hoping to see her daughter. She was shocked to see a costume woman standing in the hallway of her apartment building.

"Mrs. Reed, can I come in?"

"Look, I don't have time for shit like this," Mrs. Reed exclaimed as as she turned and was closing the door.

The stranger extended her arm, keeping the door open she entered the apartment.

"Look, if you don't want somebody who gives a shit to look for your daughter, fine. I'll still look for her, but it will be a hell of a lot easier if I have some basic information. I just need a few minutes."

"Who are you? Really?" Mrs. Reed asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice.

Keeping a caustic comment in check, the costumed woman simply stated, "I'm Hit-Girl."

"Look, don't take this personally, but you're... smaller than I would have expected," Mrs. Reed stated as she did an arm motion inviting Hit-Girl in.

"Yeah, I hear that a lot," Hit-Girl mumbled as she entered the apartment.

"I thought all of the 'Superheroes' were dead."

"Some are. Some retired. I took a vacation but I'm still around. Listen, I don't have a lot of time to kill here. Time is crucial – the more time passes, the less of a chance of finding your daughter. I've already spoken to the parents of the other missing children tonight, now I need information from you and a recent picture of your daughter."

"How do I know you're the real thing? Hit-Girl hasn't been seen in almost five years. The police says that she was killed several years ago."

"The police say a lot of things, most of the time it's bullshit. Listen, I'm not here because I want to, but because I have to. You don't think I'd rather be having a beer and watching TV with friends? I'm not fucking dead, I want to find your daughter and I want to fucking neuter the persons responsible for abducting her." Hit-Girl stated as she walked around the apartment, visually taking in information. From what she could see, it was a small apartment, probably around 1,000 square feet, two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen and living room. TV, DVR, some books, old furniture. At least it wasn't messy, no distinct odors, old food or pet stains were noted. Third floor apartment with a fire escape outside the living room window. Nothing to suggest living beyond what Reed was earning at her job.

Turning around to face the missing girl's mother, Hit-Girl spoke in an authoritative voice, "Let me tell you what I know about you, Mrs. Reed: You're thirty-two years old, you're a paralegal for The Dawson Law Firm, you declared bankruptcy two years ago and were married to a guy who was arrested and convicted of Felony Manslaughter related to driving while under the influence of a controlled substance. You've dated off and on, belonging to at least two internet dating sites and currently aren't in a relationship. Your daughter's name is Tiffany, named after your mother. How am I doing so far?"

Robin Reed's jaw fell open. "How do you know all of this?"

"You really should be more protective of your personal information. I got all of that from the internet in less than thirty minutes. I didn't even have to pay anything for that information," Hit-Girl replied in a monotone voice.

Robin Reed was still wary of Hit-Girl. If she was the real deal, Hit-Girl was a known killer who was wanted by both the Police and Criminal Underworld before her "death". It was stated that Hit-Girl knew fifty-seven ways to kill with her bare hands and had a death count north of genocide. This woman was clad in purple leather from the neck down to her feet. She was wearing a black tactical vest that had multiple knives, brass knuckles, what looked like grenades, two pistols and God knows what in the dozen-or-so pockets. Any other time, Robin would have thought this woman was a mental patient or a fanatical cosplayer. There was something about this woman's body language and the piercing gaze in Hit-Girl's eyes that made her decide that this was the real Hit-Girl and she was her daughter's best chance of returning home.

"What do you want to know?"

"You're a single parent," Hit-Girl said in a way that was not a question.

"Yes."

"Any chance the father may have taken her?"

"No. He's still in prison."

"Does she have any friends you don't approve of? Any substance abuse problems?"

"Well, she does know some people in school that I've banned her from seeing. She doesn't use drugs. She's a straight A student, she wants to become a Veterinarian. She loves animals, more than she cares about most people."

"Smart girl," Hit-Girl thought.

"Have you noticed any strange people hanging around?"

"No."

"If she has a computer, I need to look at it."

"Why?"

"Because pedophiles, sexual predators and other scum pose as children in chatrooms and social networking sites. FaceSpace is the worst since all anybody has to do is make an account. I need to make a copy of her last few days activity." Pulling a memory stick out of one of the vest's pockets, "It will only take a few minutes."

"Do you really think you can find her?"

"I don't know, but I do know I'm your best chance. Cops?" Hit-Girl stated with a venomous tone, "Cops don't care. The good ones are either railroaded out or quit, so what's left is either on the take or the thought of carrying a gun and badge makes them think that their dicks are bigger. The good cops? They have to play by rules, rules that criminals don't have. Me? I don't have any rules when it comes down to dealing with criminals."

"Okay, do what you need to do. Just please," Mrs. Reed emotional being crumbled as she started crying, "please find my daughter and bring her back."

For a split second, the hardened face behind the masquerade mask softened. She responded with a quieter, kinder voice, "I'll do everything I can."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

THE SEARCH CONTINUES

After parking the Challenger in the garage, Mindy waited for the door to close completely before exiting the car. Opening the trunk, she pulled out the weapon-ladened vest, her mask and wig. If she was going to return as Hit-Girl, she needed to more careful than she was when she teamed with Kick-Ass. Gazing at the burglar alarm system, she knew that it was still armed so the inside of her house was safe. After entering the code to deactivate the system, she entered the house.

After taking the costume off and placing it along with the other Hit-Girl items in the secured closet, she opened the bag containing the take-out Chinese food she picked up at a drive through. Sitting in front of her computer, she ate as she researched the information she had on the missing children. All were from the same area, all were the same age, all went to the same school.

"Too much to be a coincidence," she thought. "The cops should know this. They have to be working this angle. So I'll do something they can't do." She worked through the night, gathering as much information she could. She had a plan – she would sleep during the day and start rousting people for information when darkness came. The life of at least one little girl was in the balance. If what she suspected was true, only Hit-Girl could prevent more abductions from happening.

After Dave's death, she tried to become a normal person. It had taken her almost a year to recover from the beating she received the night that was dubbed by the media as "The Night The Superheroes Died." Dave was killed protecting her, something that she never forgave herself for. Hit-Girl was the best of the Vigilantes, she was the one who always saved others. She spent several days in Intensive Care, hovering between life and death. She spent another year going through rehab for her broken bones and slashed muscles, the multiple surgeries to her face to repair the broken and crushed bones. The only friends she had left were Marcus and Dr. Gravity. Marcus took her home with him so she could recover. She recovered physically, but emotionally and mentally, she was scarred and broken. Marcus signed her up with a shrink, but Mindy could never trust her enough to bare the parts of her soul that needed to be exposed. She refused to take anti-depression medications. Mindy felt like a huge failure to both Damon and Dave. She was unable to forgive herself for the events of that night.

Dr. Gravity had been injured a year prior to that horrible night. He was working an Internship, hoping to become a College Professor. He walked with a limp and needed a cane for balance, courtesy of injuries acquired being a Vigilante. He talked Mindy into attending college, which she plunged head-first into. She was in Honors Classes after her first semester. She attacked studying like Hit-Girl attacked asshole junkies carrying Glocks. She majored in Criminology and minored in Theatre. She graduated Summa Cum Laude – the top of her class. She also partied hard. Anything she could do to keep her mind occupied and not think about the years of being a Masked Vigilante, anything to forget about her father's death, then years later, her husband's death.

She was coping, she thought she had things under control. She did, until the day Marcus died. A heart attack – he died in his sleep. The loss caused her to withdraw from life. She quit her job with a Private Detective Agency as a junior investigator, she quit returning friends phone calls, she bought a house with the money that she had stolen from criminals over the years as Hit-Girl. Every day, she worked out for hours in the gym she had built into the house, regaining her stamina, speed, dexterity and strength. She practiced with her knives and swords for hours, she spent hours a week target practicing with multiple firearms.

There were days she was almost suicidal. Those days, she would watch videos of her and Dave doing the silly things they recorded. There was never any mention of their alter egos in the videos, just Dave and Mindy. Bowling, hanging out at the beach, putting up a Christmas Tree, the things she once thought were silly, now meant everything to her.

Everyday, she would watch the local news. Sometimes, she would get so angry she would have to turn off the TV. "Why? Why is the world so unfair?" she would ask, never expecting an answer. Each day, the room that she rarely entered beaconed for her. She resisted but each day, the call was stronger.

The day the second missing child was made public, she went into the closet, pulled down the box containing the Hit-Girl costume. She stared at it for over an hour, good and bitter memories playing out in her mind. She closed the box and placed it back on the shelf. Then she pulled another box down, opened it and stared. The bloody costume of Kick-Ass was there, reminding her of that horrible night. Then Mindy did what she hadn't been able to do for over four years. She cried the hardest she ever cried. She cried herself to sleep, clutching the only thing she had left of Dave Lizewski.

When she woke up, she carefully folded the green costume and placed it back into its box. When she finally exited the closet, she knew that Hit-Girl would be back and this time, she would be more vicious and brutal than ever.


	4. Chapter 4

_As the readers will see, Hit-Girl has become a kinder, gentler Vigilante since her retirement. Who am I kidding? We all know that our little Mindy only softened her style out of love and repect for Dave. With him no longer around, there is no longer a moderating influence on mindy/Hit-Girl. Too bad for the people who cross paths with her._

CHAPTER FOUR

THE BITCH IS BACK

It was dark, Hit-Girl was using the roofs and alleys to stay hidden. Eavesdropping on the conversations of people passing by, she rapidly came to the conclusion that the entrance requirements to the human race are too low. Shaking her head in disgust at the mangling of the English language along with the petty, stupid conversations, she was glad she was different than most people.

She had a few suspects she wanted to question the next day, but not as Hit-Girl. No, tonight was going to be used to try to get some information, but also to let the criminal underworld know that Hit-Girl was back and not taking any shit from anyone.

"Ah, there it is, and just as filthy as I remember it," she thought to herself. She was looking at "Dick's Dive", a filthy bar that catered to the lowest forms of human life. At least one of the denizens of the bar should have the information she was looking for.

Dick Murdoch was tending bar, listening to the bold tales and illegal activities of his patrons. Dick use to be an enforcer for Frank D'Amico years ago. He left the mob to open his bar before Big Daddy and Hit-Girl started taking down the D'Amico operation. Dick dodged that bullet, but then became a constant target of Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl when they wanted somebody to squeal or rat out criminal activity that they were investigating. The two costumes crime fighters had damaged his bar and his clients several times. Dick celebrated the day the media broke the news that Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl were found dead by the police; the biggest pains to his ass were gone forever. His hatred for Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl was evident by the custom made dartboards in his bar; two dartboards – one with Kick-Ass' face and the other with Hit-Girl's face, the center target being between-the-eyes.

Dick was pouring whiskey into a shot glass when he heard one of the barflys say, "What the fuck?" Looking at the door that was usually locked, he saw her standing inside.

The bitch. It couldn't be, she was dead. He hadn't seen her in over five years. Her presence caused the usually noisy atmosphere to to become uncomfortably quiet. She stood at the door, her five foot three inch body appearing more imposing than it should. She was completely dressed out and heavily armed. Her tactical vest had multiple magazines for her HK 9 mm pistols. She was carrying two frag grenades and two flash grenades and her most intimidating weapon, her double-blade bostaff. Her face was almost made of stone, no expression except her eyes, her piercing eyes that betrayed her as being a stone cold killer.

"Hey, little girl, that's a dangerous game you're playing. If you want to play 'dress up', I know a guy who'll give you big money to dress up like Wonder Woman," Dick yelled at the purple clad figure. The patrons erupted with laughter, turning away from the young woman. Everybody knew she had to be an imposter. Even if Hit-Girl was alive, why would she come here, now?

Silently scanning the room with her cold, piercing eyes, Hit-Girl looked for old stoolies or people she didn't like. A couple of candidates looked promising. If she had to bust some heads and kick some ass tonight, she would. Her main reason for being seen was to get the word out she was back. A little fear and intimidation can go a long way if it's used correctly.

"Good to see you again, you worthless cunt," Hit-Girl finally replied to Murdoch in her best Clint Eastwood impersonation. "Are you still watering the drinks down? The shit you sell wouldn't make a baby kitten sleepy."

Murdoch felt a hollow feeling in the pit of his gut. It was her. She was the only woman he ever met who spoke to him that way. The direct stare and the use of profanity was something that only Hit-Girl could pull off.

Walking towards the bar, Hit-Girl continued speaking, with venom in her voice, "I see the local losers, fags and shitheads still come here. There's more rats in here than in the NYC subway." Looking at one of the patrons sitting on a stool at the bar, Hit-Girl changed the tone to being more playful. "Hey, is that you, Booster G?"

Booster G was a large black man with unwashed dreds. He worked as muscle for different criminal enterprises and was a senior member of one of the local, violent gangs. He was jacked up on steroids, no human could get that big without chemical enhancements. Booster G made the mistake of taking on Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl years earlier. His gang decided that taking on the Vigilantes would be an easy way to make money and earn street cred. Multiple criminal organizations had placed _**WANTED, DEAD ONLY**_ Bounties on the heads of most of the active vigilantes. Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl were worth $100,000 each. The aftermath of trying to collect on the bounty left most of the gang dead and Booster G in the Orthopedic Unit of a hospital for over a month, courtesy of a beatdown given by Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl.

"Hey now, don't be starting no shit with me, girl," Booster G spat out to the slowly approaching Hit-Girl. "I'll be taking your ass to school if you fuck with me."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, my brain cells commit suicide each time I hear you talk, you ignorant bastard. Just looking at you takes twenty fucking points off my IQ. You're going to take me to school? America's oldest fucking twenty-seven year old senior? Does the little short yellow bus still come to pick you up? Does your mommy still use spit on a rag to clean your face before you get on the bus?" Hit-Girl asked, obviously enjoying tormenting Booster G way too much. "Hey people," Hit-Girl stated to the entire building, raising her voice so she could be heard, "Booster G went to school one day, his teacher asked, what is two plus two? 'Do you know, Booster G?' And he said, 'Hell yeah, I know what two plus two is: THOMAS JEFFERSON, TEACHER.'"

Hearing this insult, Booster G jumped off the stool, his hand going for his pocket. As fast as he was, he was no match for Hit-Girl. Her right hand grabbed one of the HK's she was carrying and before Booster G was able to open his switchblade, Hit-Girl shot both of his knees. He was screaming before he hit the floor.

"Oh Jesus Christ, she shot me! Somebody please call an 'Amberlance'." Hit-Girl rolled her eyes, nonchalantly bent over to pick up Booster's switchblade. Making a face, she muttered, "Cheap Chinese knock-off shit," before throwing it to the far wall where the blade stuck into the cheap paneling. Thinking that Booster G was being overly theatrical, Hit-Girl rolled her eyes again and stepped over his writhing body as if he was a road killed rat.

Sitting on a stool, she noticed that some of the patrons were sneaking out the doors. Good, fewer shitheads to have to monitor. "Okay, DICK, we have a problem: Some sick fucker is abducting pre-teen girls. All the same age, all with blonde hair. This reminds me of a child prostitution ring I brought down a few years ago. I seem to remember that one of the members of that group came here often. Hey, DICK, I'm kinda thirsty, how about a bottle of water?"

Murdoch slowly reached under the bar, watching Hit-Girl twirl the HK on her trigger finger. Bringing out a sixteen ounce bottle of Evian, he placed it in front of the psycho bitch he thought was out of his life.

"Thanks, DICK." Hit-Girl placed the HK on the bar, opened the water, took a few sips, placed it on the bar, then picked the HK up and started twirling it on her finger again.

"Damned, that's some good water. I'm surprised you have good stuff like that in this shithole of a place you call a bar. Now, back to business. There's a little girl out there who was kidnapped two days ago. If what I think is happening, then the two other girls are now on their way to some rat infested neighborhood where they're going to be prostituted and never seen again."

Her voice changed, dripping sarcasm, "Now, DICK, you're an honorable man, I know you don't want shit like that to happen**.** So, I want you to have a conversation with a few of your patrons and get me some information. I want to know if _The Russian_ is back in business. If it's not him, I want to know who is involved and who is kidnapping these kids. You've got until midnight to call me at this number, otherwise, I'm coming back and I have a brand new flamethrower that I'm itching to use." Giving Murdoch a stare that would make a Grizzly Bear cower in fear, "I'm not shitting you. Either I have names and places tonight, or I'll chain the doors shut burn this damned place down around you and any other dumb sum-bitches stupid enough to be in here."

Murdoch watched as she turned her back to him, stepped over Booster G and walked towards the door. He knew that this was Hit-Girl and that she meant business. He picked up a cell phone, intending to get her the information she had demanded because he knew if he didn't, he wouldn't live to see the light of the next day.

She exited the same door she entered, hearing Booster G still wailing for somebody to call an "Amberlance."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

RESCUE

Hit-Girl was patrolling alleys and rooftops, waiting for Murdoch to call when she looked down and saw movement in the darkened alley beneath her. Placing a small pair of night vision binoculars to her eyes, she saw two men blocking the alley, a woman was slowly backing up to the wall. "Ah, the game's afoot," Mindy thought as she found a fire escape and scampered down as rapidly as she could. "Seriously, why would anybody with two viable brain cells venture into places like this?" she thought as she reached the bottom step. She took off in a fast run when she touched ground. She came up on the assailants quickly. Even in the low light and with their backs to her, she could tell they were armed with knives. "No light banter, just take them out quickly," she thought as she grasped her bladed bo-staff in the center with her right hand.

The muggers had no idea that the personification of death was rapidly approaching from behind. One was giving his intended victim the usual, "Don't fight us and we may let you live," speech. His partner was more vulgar, making statements the only reason a woman was in this hood at night was to taste his sweet, sweet love. His hand reached towards the woman, mere inches from touching her face...

The woman was expecting to feel him touch her. Instead, she saw a surprised expression on his face as he stiffened. At the same time, something protruded from his chest, spraying her with blood, then retracted. Before he hit the ground, his partner, yelled, "Tyrone, this ain't the time to be fucking around." Turning around to see Tyrone on the ground, she turned as got a glimpse of "her". His eyes widened as he made the decision to run. Unfortunately, his feet never got the message; the last thing he saw was a long blade making an arc that separated his head from the rest of his body. His head hit the ground with a sickening thud before his body followed.

The woman screamed. Mindy winced. "Hey, hey bitch, shut up! I'm rescuing you. Now, let's walk out of this alley, then you go one way and I'll go the other. Are you with me?" Hit-Girl asked as she started walking towards the alley entrance, placing her bladed bo-staff across her back. Looking back, she saw the woman staring at the results Hit-Girl's efforts. "Hey, you dumb bitch, either follow me out of here or I'll leave you here for their homies to find you. You don't want them to think that _YOU_ did this, don't you?" The woman vomited, then ran past Hit-Girl as fast as she could, leaving Hit-Girl to yell out behind her, "You're welcomed!"

Climbing back up the fire escape, Hit-Girl chuckled to herself. Years of being a Vigilante caused her to see the different ways people handled the unexpected and the macabre. This chick was one for the books. "Maybe Dave was right, maybe I should write a book about my adventures one day. Dumb bitches like her would get their own, dedicated volume," she thought as she reached the roof of the building.

After walking the roofs for a few minutes, she decided to take to the alleys on street level. Her first kills in almost five years and they were as easy as unwrapping a fast food burger. She would have tried to disarm them first, if Dave and Marcus were still around. The fact was, Mindy likes to kill. The people she kills aren't school teachers or police officer, but hardened criminals. Scum and predators of society. People who prey on others and should be dealt with the most deadly of force, if anything, to prevent them from striking again. Arresting them only means that they'll eventually be back on the streets, learning from their mistakes and committing crimes in ways that can't be traced. Dead men commit no crimes. Daddy was right in the way he thought, but Mindy wanted friends and family and that meant playing by society's rules. Marcus was her guardian, Dave was her friend, first love and husband. She could rein-in her bloodlust out of respect for the men who meant so much to her. Both were gone now, one a victim of the villainous scum that he used "rules" dealing with, the other dead from natural causes. The reasons didn't matter, Mindy/Hit-Girl no longer had these moderating influences in her life. From this moment on, deadly force would be met with deadly force, no exceptions.

Deep in thought, she rounded a corner and walked into another mugging in progress. "Damned it, walking around distracted, I'm going to get shanked before the night is over," Hit-Girl thought as she quickly surveyed the situation: Three asshole, probably gang members by the way they dressed. Elderly black woman, clutching her purse. Two assholes with knives, one with a pistol. They're calm, taking trash, mugging an old woman begging them to leave her alone so she can buy milk for her grandkids. "That's it, they're toast," Hit-Girl thought as she drew both pistols with both hands while walking towards the muggers. "Hey, assholes, turn around and see your executioner," she shouted. Almost in slow motion, all three turned and as they faced her, three shots rang out, one to the head of each mugger. All fell to the ground before they could beg for mercy.

"Are you Okay?" Hit-Girl asked as she holstered her guns.

"I, I guess," the elderly woman replied with a shaky voice.

"Let's get out of here, it's not safe," Hit-Girl said as she scanned the open end of the alley, just to be sure no other gang members were investigating the gunshots.

"The old woman walked beside Hit-Girl, making furtive glances at her. Hit-Girl smiled for a second, then said, "It's Okay, I won't bite."

"Well, how do I thank you for helping me?"

"Just say, 'Thank you', and stay away from bad areas like these."

While they walked, the elderly African American woman thanked Hit-Girl repeatedly, to the point that Hit-Girl was about to tell the old woman to just shut the hell up. Biting her tongue, Hit-Girl thought, "Thank God!" when the old woman said her apartment building was across the street.

Before the woman entered the building, she turned around to speak to Hit-Girl before she disappeared.

"Thank you for helping me and I'll pray for you each night. You know the first Hit-Girl was killed and I don't want that to happen to you."

"Thanks, but I'm the first and only Hit-Girl. I took a vacation, but I'm back. Spread the word."

"It's a sad world when the police don't protect us, but a little girl has to dress up and do bad things to protect good people."

Hit-Girl swallowed the bile, hating being referred to as a "little girl". Hit-Girl replied as politely as she could, "Take care and please, be careful. The world is a bad place and the good people are the ones who suffer."

After the excitement of deflecting two muggings, she found a rooftop that allowed her some privacy, a place where she could sit down and rest for a few minutes. The sword tips were covered in dry blood. Pulling a moist towelette from one of the pockets in her vest, she cleaned the blood off the blades.

After an hour, the phone signaled an incoming call. Since this was a 'burn phone' and only Murdoch had the number, she knew who was calling. Tapping the control on her ear, the connection was made.

"What's up, shithead? You got some info for me?" She immediately rolled her eyes, Murdoch sounded like he had been sampling some of his own booze.

"No, asshole, he's not a real Goddamned Russian, that's just the name I stuck to him years ago... He's a guy you'd fucking love, a damned redneck from South Carolina who likes children... Yeah, well fuck you, too... Just tell me what you've heard... Murdoch, if you're jacking me, I swear you'll regret ever lying to me," Hit-Girl stated, tapping the control on her ear, breaking the connection.

Working her way back to where she had parked her transportation, she kept an eye out to make sure she wasn't being followed. It took her over half-an-hour to get back to the Mist Mobile. She and Dave used it as transportation years ago, she kept it parked in an enclosed garage, far away from her home. She placed it in a false name and paid taxes on it so the license tags stayed current. Thinking back, she must have always known that Hit-Girl would return since she kept the Mist Mobile available. It was old but it serve the purpose of transporting Hit-Girl and couldn't be traced back to Mindy Lizewski.

She drove to the address given to her, slowly coasting past the building. It was a run down neighborhood, the house was also run down. Parking the car on the sidewalk under a burned-out streetlamp, she exited the car, sticking close to the shadows. The available moonlight was sufficient for her to walk around the house, getting an idea how to enter. Passing by the junction box that the cables for TV and phone connected to the house, she stopped and used a knife to cut the lines. If the house had a silent alarm, the monitoring company wouldn't get the alert. Some alarm systems were silly and easy to defeat. It's the year 2024 and some people still use landlines for connection with the alarm companies, nothing at all like the state-of-the-art wireless system that Mindy had installed in her home.

The back door was dark, under a cheap vinyl canopy. It was dark enough that neighbors wouldn't see her picking the lock. She entered the house, it was dark. Instead of using a flashlight, she placed her night-vision goggles on. Moving as quietly as a Ninja, she went from room to room, her favorite HK in her right hand, finger on the trigger. The first floor was empty, so she knew the next step was dangerous – she had to walk up a creaky staircase. If the resident(s) in the house heard her coming up the staircase, then she would lose the element of surprise.

Despite the creaking of the staircase, nobody came out to investigate. Letting out a deep breath of relief when she reached the top landing, Hit-Girl continued her search. The first room she looked into was cluttered with old furniture and other nick-nacs. The house was old and moldy, the second floor worse than the first floor. "Fucking vampires must live here," Hit-Girl thought as she continued her stealth investigation. The next door she opened...

"Jackpot!" she thought. Laying on the floor was a little girl with a thin blanket covering her. She seemed to be sleeping. Hit-Girl walked quickly to the little girl, gently laying a hand on her as she whispered, "Tiffany?"

The little girl woke up, a terrified expression on her face. Hit-Girl placed a hand over her mouth and whispered, "Don't scream. I'm a friend, I'm going to take you home. Do you understand?"

The little girl nodded her head.

"Sit up," Hit-Girl whispered. Tiffany complied. Nylon zip ties were around her wrists and ankles. Turning the lights on would probably make things less terrifying for Tiffany, Hit-Girl knew she couldn't take the risk – if the kidnapper saw lights on, he may run. She needed the kidnapper for information; maybe she could reunite the other missing girls with their families if it wasn't too late.

"Tiffany, I need you to be a big girl. I can see because I'm wearing special glasses and I'm going to cut these ties off of you. You need to stay quiet."

Tiffany sat up, Hit Girl noticed that her pants were off and she was wearing only her underwear. A flash of anger flashed through Hit-Girl, imagining this pre-teen being sexually molested. Hit-Girl existed to protect the weak. If she couldn't protect them, then she would avenge them. She would serve Tiffany's vehicle of vengeance without a second thought.

Working quickly, Hit-Girl cut the restraints off Tiffany. "How many people have you seen? How many are in this house?" Hit Girl asked after the restraints were removed.

Rubbing her wrists, Tiffany answered with a shaky voice, "One man."

"It's Okay, it's time to go home."

At that time, the front door slammed shut. "No, he's back!" Tiffany whispered, fear in her voice.

"Shhhh. You stay here. Stay quiet. I'll take care of him. He won't ever hurt you again. Please, trust me."

"I trust you."

Hit Girl moved to the door, opening it, then closing. Taking the goggles off, she positioned herself at the far wall behind the staircase. Guessing that the kidnapper would come to check on his victim, Hit-Girl placed herself in position where the kidnapper wouldn't see her. Picking a TASER from her tactical vest, she prepared herself to take out the kidnapper. She would have preferred to place a slug in his skull but she needed him alive and relatively uninjured.

As she guessed, she heard the stairs creaking as he walked up the steps. He reached the landing, turned on the light, turned around and saw Hit-Girl. Before he could react, she pressed the "FIRE" button on the TASER. The barbs landed on his upper chest, penetrating his shirt and embedding in his flesh. He shuddered as 5,000 volts of electricity coursed through his body. He hit the floor paralyzed. Hit-Girl was on top of him in a second, rolling him face down on the floor, pulling his arms behind his back and placing nylon cuffs on his wrists. She then placed nylon cuffs on his ankles, then another zip-tie connecting the wrists to ankles. He was now in an inescapable hogtie. Dragging him to the room Tiffany was in, she opened the door and turned the overhead light on.

"Tiffany, it's Okay. He won't hurt you again."

Tiffany looked at the hogtied man who was still feeling the effects of the TASER. Hit-Girl dragged him into the room, finding an exposed pipe that fed the radiator. Seeing a roll of duct tape, Hit-Girl wrapped several feet of the tape around the man's mouth and eyes, then around his neck to the radiator pipe. Convinced that he couldn't escape without help, she turned to Tiffany.

"Sweetie, if you want to kick him a few times, go ahead. He'll never hurt you again. Believe me, he's going to learn what pain and humiliation are before the sun rises this morning."

"I want to go home."

"Okay sweetie, I'm taking you home, but first put your clothes on. I see your pants and shoes over there," pointing to where she saw the jeans and shoes. When the girl sat down to put her clothes on, Hit-Girl knelt next to the subdued kidnapper and growled, "My name is Hit-Girl and I'll be back after I take her home. What you've done to her will pale in comparison to what I'll do to you when I get back."

Leading Tiffany out of the house, Hit-Girl helped her into the Mist Mobile. Hit-Girl didn't want to surprise Tiffany's mother; she didn't want to call ahead of time just in case the cops were monitoring the telephone. It wouldn't be long before both the police and the criminal underworld would be after Hit-Girl. She had to be careful if she wanted to avoid being caught.

"Who are you?" Tiffany asked as Hit-Girl drove.

"I'm... I'm a good person who does bad things to bad people," Hit-Girl answered. "Here, find some music on the radio. Whatever you want to listen to will be fine."

Tiffany found a Top 40 station, the rest of the trip was continued with music in the background.

Glancing at the young girl in the passenger seat, Hit-Girl envied the little girl. She had friends, she had a normal life. Hit-Girl was invading crack houses and killing drug dealers when she was twelve years old. This little girl had friends and family that cared about her, Mindy and Hit-Girl had friends once, but not now. From the day she started her training, she knew nothing but anger and the urge to get revenge on the people who caused her mother's death. That subsided the day she met Dave but came back full force after his death. Now the anger and hatred were boiling over and a lot of people were going to pay.

Traffic was light so the trip back to Tiffany's home took just a few minutes. The little girl had been held captive just a few miles from her home. In a city as heavily populated as NYC, a few miles could have been the same as across the state.

Hit-Girl and Tiffany reached the door of Tiffany's apartment. Hit-Girl did a "cop knock" on the door. In just a few seconds, the door opened, Robin looked down as Tiffany yelled, "Mom!"

Robin Reed reached down hugged her daughter and picked her up.

"You may want take her to an Emergency Room and have her checked out," Hit-Girl said as the mother and child were deep in the embrace.

"Thank you for bringing her back. Dear God, thank you!"

Hit-Girl said nothing else, turning around to take the stairwell down to exit the building. She still had a lot of work to do before daybreak.

"Hit-Girl, your partner, Kick-Ass? He's one of the ones who retired, wasn't he?" Robin asked before Hit-Girl reached the stairwell.

Hit-Girl stopped walking for a second, dropped her head as a flash of grief crossed her face. "No. No, he wasn't," she replied, her voice softer than usual, with a hint of sadness.

"Oh, Dear God, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, I am too," Hit-Girl replied as she walked down the stairs. "Grieve later, finish the job," she thought as she reached the Mist Mobile. She needed information and by God, she would have it before the sun rose.


	6. Chapter 6

The Russian

In a seedy bar in Minsk, Russia the TV blared. A drunken woman wearing jeans and a filthy tank top was playing poker with a group of likewise drunken men. The woman had scars over her entire body, one eye covered by an eye patch.

"Call," she abruptly stated in Russian. The other players eyed each other – this woman was known for having a violent temper that was easily triggered. They all folded, even though one knew he had a winning hand. He had no desire to be the victim of one of the woman's bezerker rages.

Suddenly the woman froze, her attention focused on the TV, the poker game forgotten.

"...and in international news, CNN-America reports that sightings of the vigilante Hit-Girl have been seen in various areas of New York City. Several people with criminal records have either been injured or killed while combating her. NYPD denies that this could be Hit-Girl, stating she must be a copycat or ill-intentioned Cosplayer. NYPD states that Hit-Girl died five years ago. Despite those statements, this video shows somebody dressed like Hit-Girl fighting gang members in Harlem was recorded by a citizen last night..."

A shaky video filled the screen, multiple gunshots in the background, several people yelling profanities, then screaming in pain when a bright explosion filled the screen. Seconds later, when the camera-phone was able to visually record, a small purple figure was seen twirling a staff that had sharp blades on both ends. The fight lasted less than thirty seconds, several bodies laid out and a shadowy purple figure was standing at the epicenter, the blades of her weapon covered in blood. The costumed figure noted that she was being recorded when she looked up. The camera owner was heard to say, "Don't hurt me!" as she advanced towards him, using her left arm to hide the lower part of her face. She got within touching distance, then ran past the person holding the camera-phone.

"The woman hasn't been identified but the victims of her attack were members of a violent street gang that has been connected with drugs, human trafficking, prostitution and murder. Once again, the NYPD has stated that this is not the vigilante known as Hit-Girl who was active Twenty-teens."

The woman stared at the TV for minutes after the CNN station went to a story about a new tractor factory being built near Moscow. "It's her," the scarred woman muttered, shaking her head. Taking in a deep breath, she slammed both of her fists into the table as she stood up, forgetting about the money laying in front of her, "IT'S HER!"

Patrons of the bar cleared the way as she slowly walked toward the exit. The last words heard from her as she walked out of the door were, "Time to meet again and this time, Mother Russia will win and you will die."


End file.
